He opened his eyes and remembered he shared a reality with others. Dreams fading, seemed to slip from his mind like trying to hold sand. Laying there he realized he remembered what it was to be cold. His instincts told him there was some other feeling, some other sensation, opposite of what he felt now, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember his name or his mothers face, let alone how he got into this cold, dark, metallic cell, void of any comfort.
Both temples hurt and there was a dull ache in the back of his head. If he could only remember. Noise broke the monotony of silent breathing, a rhythmic sound, a measured beat that grow louder and louder till three faces appeared in the cell door window. Head back into hands he thought his head-ache must be affecting his eyes because no three people could ever look so identical. Identical from uniform to feature he didn’t know what to say let alone think. He heard the door open without looking up and heard that noise again, but this time it was beat-less with no rhythm.
When the six feet stopped dancing in front of him he looking up just in time to hear the pop with the flash of light. The flash brought back a memory. He remembered being beaten, his body and mind being tortured till he escaped all suffering and forget everything. He felt a sharp poke in his chest. He remembered the opposite feeling, the other sensation he was looking for. Crimson flowed down his chest and he smiled at a warmth he would never remember again.
The three clone Gaurdians silently turned and walked back the way they came, their feet echoing a unified march, a rhythmic beat that faded slowly like the warmth faded from the Nameless. Three more identical uniformed men appeared, but these wore the gray of janitors. Quietly and quickly the Nameless removed one of thier own and cleaned the cell of what little warmth it had ever known.
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